


Into the Night

by Asdgafn



Category: Liontrust - Fandom, Warcraft (2016), World of Warcraft
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Blood, Deaf!Khadgar, Eventual Romance, Fighting, Khadgar is bae, LionTrust, M/M, Magic, Major Character Injury, Major injuries, Minor Character Death, Minor Injuries, Slow Build, The Kirin Tor are dicks, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9624278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asdgafn/pseuds/Asdgafn
Summary: It all began with an explosion. A literal one; the kind that bloomed outwards with a deafening roar and narrowed the world into a whirlwind of memories as life flashed by with the certainty that death would soon follow. The major magical malfunction leaves the budding mage Khadgar permanently wounded. It isn't long until the Kirin Tor kicks him out on the basis of being a liability. With his newfound limitations, Khadgar is left alone to wander the world with nobody by his side. At least until the orcs attacked...





	1. Prologue

### Prologue

It all began with an explosion. A literal one; the kind that bloomed outwards with a deafening roar and narrowed the world into a whirlwind of memories as life flashed by with the certainty that death would soon follow.

This explosion differed from the typical in only a few ways. It was magical in origin, coloured chaotically with swirled blue and purple symbols that danced through the air before they evaporated into something akin to smoke. It also lacked the heat that blew through everything within its path, instead it felt almost chilled when it knocked him down.

The cold explosion blasted over his skin in a rush of icy doom, knocked him flat onto the ground with such force that he believed he would never breathe again. His lungs struggled with the overwhelming need to expand, to bring oxygen back into his blood, but instead they just quaked with inability.

Darkness speckled his vision like an invitation to a new world; it threatened to rob him of his senses for what felt like an eternity. He saw stars in the darkness, a thousand galaxies brought into light after the brightness of the explosion. Then it all retreated, leaving him to gasp like a dying fish while he looked around with cleared and panicked eyes.

An incessant ringing echoed in his ears; it struck him with force through his mind, too high pitched and constant for his sanity to maintain. It scattered his thoughts into a million broken pieces.

He panted hard and his chest struggled to keep up with his need for air. Ribs that were certainly broken protested sharply, begged him to calm down though his mind knew he couldn’t. It was too blank with the ringing and his panic, which coated his tongue in a bitter taste.

The walls of the room were littered with holes the size of his head, the plaster almost buckled entirely in a few sections. The table he had been working from was only a smudge of ash on the once white floor, now stained black and blue and purple, like some horrific bruise. Undoubtedly his skin would mimic the floor in the days to come; the entirety of his body ached with acute pain.

In the wake of the explosion, he laid on the ruined floor with a body that felt battered and broken and unresponsive. His ears refused to cease in their painful ringing, it echoed and tripped over itself through his mind.

Only now did he seem to vaguely realise just how damned foolish he had been to try the spell, far too advanced for his limited knowledge of magic. He barely felt a moment of regret before the thought slipped quick from his mind, too slippery to focus on.

Yet his pride and need to prove himself, to show off the extent of his awe inducing power, had led him straight into this mess. He did not know whether he would live, his body protested the idea with such awful pain. He was broken inside and out, felt a hot trickle of blood where it began to ooze from the corner of his lips. He did not have the strength to wipe it away.

Once again, blackness began to creep over his vision. He offered a prayer to whichever higher being may exist out in the world, the words lost within his own mind under the too loud rings still within his ears.

Scarcely a minute after he fell into that blackness, voices rose in alarmed tones outside the wreckage that had been the door. Someone shouted for a medic, a priest, anyone with first aid training. Muted thumps battered at the door until enough wood was cleared to allow entrance.

A swarm of angry and confused Kirin Tor members burst into the destroyed room. The utter destruction halted their voices for a long moment until their leader spotted the unconscious youth slumped to the floor. Without a thought to spare for dignity, he scrambled over to their student.

Fear that he may be dead rushed through the old man as he laid an age wrinkled hand against the boy’s chest. A fear that there would be no pulse within the ruined body, a fear that they had lost their most promising student. But there, just barely, a heart stuttered beneath his palm in a too soft beat.

He exhaled a breath he did not know he was holding and words tumbled out of his mouth in a sorrowful murmur, “Khadgar, boy, what have you done?” He studied the too bright red of blood that trailed like a tear from Khadgar’s lips, then bellowed for a healer. Perhaps they could save him, though it seemed like the thinnest of hopes.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

_Pain._ It was overwhelming and incredible, clear cut with crystal shards of agony. It dominated everything in a ruthless grasp, forced him to groan and gasp with it. Tears leaked from his eyes in an unending stream even as he begged for death. It was preferable to this unbearable torment, this torture of his senses.

Priests clad in blood stained robes hovered over his mangled body, their voices joined in unified prayer. They worked with precision to set his broken bones, which were numerous. He screamed in a wrecked voice when they snapped his arm back into place; he wept and pleaded for them to cease, to leave him to die. They only heightened their prayer and immobilized him in stiff plaster.

A first aid master worked diligently to sew him back together, neat stitches marching across his pallid skin in dark crosses. He wound pristine bandages that turned bright red with blood alarmingly quick. He muttered about how useless the efforts were, he was that sure that Khadgar would perish before the night was complete.

Khadgar was ruined, almost beyond repair. Five ribs had broken in the force of the explosion; one had nearly speared him in the lung, just barely nicking it without collapsing the vital organ. Alongside his ribs, he had broken an arm and leg and even his collar bone.

The priests murmured over his broken leg. They surmised he may walk with a limp for the remainder of his life… if he survived. Blood was leaking inside him, it caused his body to bloat and distort unnaturally. He should die. Perhaps it may be easier than the questionable existence he led now.

Then he noticed the ringing, it cut through the pain with sheer volume and annoyance. It was nearly enough to drive him mad if the pain did not. He could not hear very well, all words were muted under the deafening demands of the ring, muffled them into nothing. Sentences became distorted into a puzzle with each person who spoke; it left him confused and disoriented.

A thin stream of blood oozed through his ears, soaking into his hair through the thin cotton balls they tried to use to stem the tide. He vaguely understood that the explosion had destroyed his ear drums, which had burst from the force of it. It was a miracle he could even hear, despite it being dominated by the incessant ringing.

They left him with the ringing as his only companion once his body was stable enough. He laid there in what felt like eternal agony, mind awash with the desire for death. For anything to escape this new torment. In the upcoming days, it kept him from sleeping, growing louder and louder and louder.

Until one day it stopped. And there was only silence. He found the sudden silence to be a blessing; he wept with relief. It seemed his tears were to flow freely in the wake of his change to life. He was not ashamed, as least not in the moment. The silence was a much desired reprieve from the constant sound. But he quickly grew to regret his wishes for silence, for it was much more invasive than he’d thought.

Khadgar had been rendered deaf, completely and utterly. His world was now an endless sound of nothing that would claim his days until his end. When the medics and priests learned of his loss, they wrote everything down for him, barely providing the basic information for him. He knew they were leaving out many, many details. But alas he was unable to catch the shape of their words when they spoke.

The time that followed his accident were the hardest of his life. The internal bleeding eventually healed though they had to drain the excess blood often. His bones began their slow work to knit back together; it forced him to relearn how to walk when the time came. And sure enough, he moved with a slight limp, as the priests had predicted.

He fought the disorientation that came with his silent life, stuck now with only the sound of his thoughts to taunt him. The difficulty he had to live with did not deter the Kirin Tor. The same day he was able to walk unaided, he was sent a missive. It came in a scroll tied with purple silk ribbon and sealed in royal blue wax, the eye of the Kirin Tor staring back at him.

He cracked the seal with trepidation and his gaze ghosted over the heartless words inked ever so neatly across the creamy page. He had been expelled from their school of magic and was demanded to leave the premises by the dawn of the next day. They’d taken the liberty of packing his belongings for him.

Khadgar was now too much of a liability. No one had ever heard of a deaf mage before, rendering him a useless former asset. Their only kindness was not leaving him with the incredible bill his recovery had generated.

And that is how Khadgar found himself walking away from the magical school, alone with only his thoughts and the oppressive silence of the world around him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fast paced for the sake of setting up the story. :) Next chapter will definitely slow down and not have so many time skips!

In the months after his accident, Khadgar went through the stages of adapting to his new world. At first he just stumbled his way through the forests of Tirisfal, confused and disoriented in his silent world. There were many dangers of not being able to hear, most noticeably the aggressive wild life that could sneak up on him with abandon.

It was his magic that saved him in these times of peril. He had been fortunate enough to learn a few combative spells before his expulsion from the school of magic. It took him a few tries to cast these attacks, almost costing him his life at the paws of an extremely grouchy bear.

He knew the words but without his hearing to aid in the tricky pronunciation, he had to fumble his way through the spell a few times before the arcane explosion scattered the air with brilliantly coloured runes and a flash of purple light. The bear decided then that he was not easy prey; it ambled off with an arcane singed hide and an unheard disgruntled growl.

When he recovered from the shock of the attack, Khadgar spent many hours practicing his spell work. He left a trail of singed trees and broken rocks in his wake, signs of his practice. He was even lucky enough to catch an unaware squirrel with his spell, though it was only an unfortunate accident for the critter. It made for a delicious stew that night.

Once he adapted (sort of) to the lack of sound, he had to figure out exactly where he was. The land was unfamiliar, a mass of dark trees and wild vegetation. He wandered for days before he stumbled across a dusty dirt road, half-starved and desperately thirsty. Perhaps fortune was smiling upon the ragged mage: the road lead to a small farming town only after a few hours of travel.

Khadgar spent nearly a month inside that small village. Upon arrival, he earned distrustful glances and sneers he couldn’t hear but saw too well. He tried to communicate with an amiable looking fellow but the man only furrowed his brow at the garbled words Khadgar tried to speak. He eventually just left, walking away with a shake of his head, as if he thought the boy was a special kind of stupid.

It was only by the grace of a sweet lady that Khadgar wasn’t thrown bodily out of the town. She had watched him stumbling around the road with a helpless expression, trying to find anyone willing to listen to him long enough to understand his situation. She approached him after hearing whispers of “taking care of the idiot beggar”.

The woman patiently listened to the garbled words of the mage for a few moments, finally catching on that he was informing her of his lack of hearing. She guided him toward her house, a single story house that was more of a hut than anything. Khadgar was gently ushered to sit down on a wobbly stool while she fetched a burnt stick from the ashes of a dead fire.

Using the charcoal and a flattened rock, Khadgar explained his situation more fully to the woman. She was named Juliana and was willing to help him if he offered her a bit of help in return. And there an agreement was made. Khadgar helped her with menial tasks around her house, such as fixing a leak in the roof and remounting a rudimentary door on the entrance. In return, she fed him and gave him a new set of clothing. It belonged to her son, who had been killed by a bucking horse a few months prior.

The clothes fit awkwardly around the mage, too tight in his shoulders and too loose in the legs. But it was warm and well made, patched neatly in places where the cloth had been worn through. His other clothes were burned; they had been too filthy and torn to try saving. He was eternally grateful to Juliana and when it was time for him to leave, it was with a saddened heart.

She hugged him tightly on the day he decided to continue on with his aimless travels. He vaguely had a destination in mind: Stormwind, the glorious capital of the Eastern Kingdoms. She cried with a watery smile, fondly stroking his cheek before she sent him on his way with a pack of food and spare supplies. She’d written a farewell on the door; he had reminded her of her lost son and she was sad to see him leave.

Khadgar never learned the name of the town or if it had a name. He struck out on the dusty road, shouldering his pack comfortably onto his back. A balmy breeze murmured a silent promise of rain against his skin while he walked. It was a blessedly cool day. It was the beginning of autumn; the trees were a glorious sprawl of gold and red and orange.

The trek toward Stormwind was a daunting one. He was incredibly far from the incredible city; it would take months to reach the capital without a horse. He followed the road dutifully, sure it would lead him to another town eventually. When he came across another town, he wasted a few precious days trying to find a person willing to trade him a horse.

In the end, it took a few spells to earn him his mount. A farmer was having trouble with foxes eating his chickens, the beasts nibbling away his flock to nearly nothing. He waited on a moonless night for the foxes to attack the coop. The sudden restlessness of the chickens alerted him to their visitors. He killed three foxes with the aid of an arcane bolt, leaving them singed and dead on the ground.

The farmer was grateful. He happily awarded Khadgar a sweet tempered mare and even a few supplies to replenish his pack. This began a new occupation for Khadgar: the wandering mage began trading his magic for what he needed. He and his mare (whom he fondly named Amber) traveled southward toward Stormwind, aiding those that were willing to take his services despite his lack of hearing.

He arrived in the forests of Elwynn by the first month of winter, when the air had a stingingly cold bite to it but before the snows could block the mountain paths. He was astonished by the sheer size of the trees in Elwynn; their massive trunks seemed to stretch to the sky in an endless stream of bark and limbs.

Amber plodded lazily across the road, hooves kicking up small puffs of dirt in her wake. Khadgar was consulting a tattered map, spread across his lap with his finger tracing the road they were on. He was taking the long way to the city, coming up on a garrison of sorts, sketched awkwardly on the map as something vaguely resembling a tower.

Khadgar stared at the page with a frown, trying to understand where he was, when Amber suddenly spooked. She twitched under his legs, flanks heaving with suddenly panicked breaths. He looked up, alarmed by her behaviour, feeling the rumble of her neighs through her side. Then between one moment and the next, he went from comfortably seated in a saddle to attempting to fly. Amber had bucked him clean off and was now bolting away into the forest.

She left Khadgar in a dazed heap on the ground, coughing on dust with a perplexed expression. He shook his head, trying to clear away the stars swimming in his vision with a few black splotches. He blinked and looked around when his sight cleared, hunting for the source that had spooked his mount.

Then he scrambled back with a new wave of alarm, a slick sheen of cold sweat immediately covering his skin, stinking of his fear. There was an enormous creature staring at him from a few feet away. It was vaguely humanoid in appearance, with hate filled ruddy eyes and a thick green skin. Yellowed tusks protruded from its maw, which was bared in a snarl he couldn’t hear.

The beast started to approach Khadgar with a surprisingly spry gait, moving with grace he hadn’t expected from such a massive creature. Khadgar immediately cried out the incantation to an arcane blast, runes exploding through the air with a rush of colour that streaked forward. The beast lurched backwards, seemingly startled by the magic. It didn’t seem to hurt it much though, instead it enraged it.

Khadgar hauled himself to his feet, adrenaline surging like a cold fire through his veins as he stumbled away from his attacker. He gasped out another spell, one that teleported him about twenty yards away from where he had been. It gave him enough borrowed time to fling out another arcane blast at the beast. He was certain that his death was imminent and unsaid prayers floated through the fear that coated his mind.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The gods seemed unwilling to let their mage perish. While he desperately prayed to them, trying to avoid his attacker, a platoon of warriors were fighting more of the creatures. They clashed in a hectic brawl of swords and fists. Horses screamed, lashing with their hooves. One was plucked up by a creature and thrown, crushing a few soldiers under its heaving flanks.

One of the warriors was named Anduin Lothar. He fought with abandon, lashing out with precise strikes to bring green blood raining onto the forest floor. He had a mane of wild hair and brilliant blue eyes, heated with the excitement of a good fight. He ordered his men with breathless shouts, ducking and whirling through the skirmish with expert ease.

Lothar slew on of the beasts with a violent swing of his sword, the bloodied steel biting deep into its neck. It fell with a grunt, limbs spasming with the throes of death, scattering half rotten leaves and twigs through the air. He did not stay to gloat over the death, only moved on to help a fallen comrade.

The battle ended as quickly as it had begun. A few of the beasts had died, their massive bodies crumpled to the ground. The survivors barked out foreign words and as a whole, they bolted into the forest. Some leaped onto incredibly sized wolves, using them similiarly to horses, riding off. He even swore he saw one fleeing on a wild-eyed horse, tightly controlling the steed with a handful of mane.

“Follow them but don’t get close enough to be picked off,” He ordered an uninjured man, gesturing sharply after the fleeing beasts. “The rest of you, tend to the wounded and make sure the dead are truly dead.” His voice was uncomfortably loud in the sudden silence that pervaded the forest in the aftermath of the battle.

At least until a new cry split the air nearby, a wordless shout that was broken with fear. Lothar didn’t spare a thought before he was swinging up into the saddle of his horse, calling for a nearby man to help him. He vaguely remembered their name was Petyr, a spry lad with plenty of enthusiasm. Together, they spurred their mounts into action, galloping toward the sound of fighting.

An unarmed lad was fleeing from one of the creatures, feet stumbling through the dead brush of the forest. He cried out again, his voice sounding unusually choked, as if his mouth were filled with something. Lothar leaned out to the side, drawing his sword again with a ring of metal. He caught the beast just as it was turning to investigate the sound of horses approaching, sword biting deeply into the flesh of its shoulder.

His horse started to shy away in panic, forcing him to dismount as he engaged the beast in a furious fight. It was armed with a crude mace; a club of wood with what looked like teeth embedded in it. He glanced over briefly to check up on the civilian while Petyr joined him in the fight, their swords keeping the creature at bay.

The boy tripped over a root, falling hard to the forest floor with a thump that earned Lothar’s sympathy for a split second. Then he was being blinded by a sudden flash of light, his vision flooded with blue and purple, leaving black spots welling through his sight. He managed to gasp out an oath of surprise as he instinctively backed up away from his foe. He heard a similar curse from Petyr.

When he could see clearly again, he was surprised to find the beast was dead on the forest floor, its flesh bubbled and blackened from some sort of attack. He whirled around to look toward the boy, afraid he had been caught in the blast, too. But he was unharmed, sitting upright with a hand extended. Lothar briefly met his gaze, staring into a pair of warm brown eyes before they rolled upwards, their owner slumping over as he fainted.

“Petyr, make sure it’s dead,” he ordered absently as he hurriedly over to the unconscious lad. He knelt down beside him, checking for injuries, patting down his worn out clothing with care. He felt the sharp contrast of bones through the thin cloth; the boy was alarmingly skinny. He found the source of his fainting when he turned him over; his back was split with an ugly series of punctures and a jagged tear.

Blood immediately saturated his hands from the wound as it bled profusely, turning his skin a ruddy red. He immediately wrenched off his own shirt, hands hurriedly ripping it into strips for bandaging. He hastily tied a few around the worst of the damage, pressing down hard to stem the flow of blood.

“By the gods,” Petyr’s voice startled Lothar, making him flinch. “He’s gonna die, ain’t he?” The warrior had a bleak tone as he leaned down to peer at the injury, sparking irritation in Lothar.

“Not if I can help it.” With the temporary bandage secured, Lothar scooped the limp boy up into his arms, cringing at how weightless he felt. “We need to find the others. If we get him to Stormwind, he might survive.” He hastened toward the horses, heaving himself up onto his mount.

They wheeled their horses around and hastened toward where they had come. He could hear Petyr muttering to himself, catching only a scattering of the words but otherwise ignoring him. He’d be damned before he let the mysterious lad die. Impulsively he tightened his grip around him, pulling him closer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. I sincerely apologise for the large gap between updating. I unfortunately got slammed with life. :( Between college, a new job, my daughter, and breaking up with my significant other, I had literally no time to write. But things are hopefully settling. Thank you for waiting.
> 
> And as always, please leave comments and/or kudos! :) They're what keep me writing!

Khadgar felt the groan rumble in his chest before he was fully awake, an audible noise in response to the pain he felt. Memories flickered like dying candles through his mind, replaying brokenly. An explosion. The sensation of flying, even if only for a moment. A breath that lasted an eternity. Screaming. And pain. So much pain.

His eye snapped open as awareness slid like oil over his memories, igniting into a flash of light that assaulted his eyes as they opened. He involuntarily groaned once more and squeezed his eyes shut again. A few hot tears melted over his cheeks, an immediate response to the briefly overwhelming sensations flooding through him.

Tight gasps made his chest rise and fall raggedly, almost as if another heart beat erratically under his skin. When he felt as if his body were once more under his own control, he blinked again, opening his eyes onto an unfamiliar sight.

He took the strong light in stride now, seeing it came from an unshuttered window. He was confused at sight that greeted him: a small room, whitewashed in plain plaster without any tapestries to soften the glare. It explained the nearly overwhelming brightness of the room.

Khadgar steadied himself with a sucked in breath, feeling his heart pound unevenly in his ribs, a prisoner wanting to escape. He cautiously braced his arms against the bed he was lying in, edging upwards until he sat semi-upright. It made his back protest with twinges of warning pain, a hint that more movement would result in dire consequences.

He gave up that that point, sagging back against his pillows in a position only partially higher than lying flat. He could feel the pull of something against his skin beneath his shirt and it puzzled him. He grabbed the hem of his shirt as if to lift it, but instead he paused, fingers rubbing against the fabric.

It wasn’t his shirt, the worn old thing he'd had for well over a month. Instead he wore a plain white linen shirt, a bit too large for his size. It hung loosely, soft against his skin. He marveled at the fineness of the weave, his dry skin catching against the fine fibers. It reminded him of the clothing he wore from his days within the Kirin Tor.

A faint blush heated his cheeks when he realised he’d been admiring a shirt, perhaps for a bit too long. He pulled the hem upwards, exposing his chest. Stiff white bandages were wound snugly around his ribs, at contrast with his sun tanned skin. He absently traced his finger along the bottom hem of the bandage, feeling the bumps of old scars.

He frowned down at the expanse of bandages, turning his thoughts inward as he hunted for his memories in an attempt to remember what had happened. He teased a stray thread between his fingers as he sat, lost within his own thoughts. Vaguely the hint of a hideous creature haunted him. The ghost of pain, much larger than what he felt now. And a pair of eyes, the too bright blue reminiscent of the sky after a violent storm. Then darkness.

Khadgar chewed at his bottom lip as he struggled to piece together what had happened. He surmised that the beast had caused his back injury and the blue eyed stranger had helped him? It seemed plausible but still left him perplexed. Where was he? How long had he lain in this bed, injured and unconscious?

Frustrated, he threw the covers aside, freeing his legs from their confines, ignoring the sharp twinges of pain radiating from his injury. He scowled at the unfamiliar trousers he wore. They were buttery soft leather, probably doeskin. He began to swing his legs over the edge of the bed but something made him compulsively look up, an itch that raced across his skin alongside a rush of goosebumps.

A hand was waving near his face, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Khadgar flinched away from it violently, the words of a spell already spilling past his lips. “Sha’ la-“ He barely uttered the beginning of the incantation before it was abruptly cut off by the hand smacking against his mouth, forcefully silencing him.

The force of the swing sent him sprawling backwards, pain shooting through his back like lightning. His gasp was smothered and his eyes watered. Through the threat of tears he saw a vaguely familiar man looming over him, his lips moving with words he could not hear. The mage watched helplessly as the man spoke too quickly for him to read, growing more agitated as he spoke.

He was obviously a warrior, judging from his strength and lithe build. And the sword belted at his waist. He had wild black hair, worn long and tied back and a pair of startlingly bright blue eyes. It was the eyes that sparked Khadgar to remember him. It was the same stranger from the forest!

And the stranger was now thoroughly pissed looking, irritated by Khadgar’s lack of reply. Though it was difficult to reply when a hand was pressed against his lips! He narrowed his eyes at the warrior impatiently; it layered neatly over the low fear burning through his skin. The man seemed to realise his error, his hand disappearing to be clasped behind his back as he straightened up, away from Khadgar.

Khadgar licked his lips uncertainly, tasting the hint of sweat and oil from the man’s hand. He worked his jaw slightly, feeling the tension thickening the air. He finally steadied himself with a short breath before forcing the unwieldy words out of his clumsy mouth, praying they were intelligible. “I um, cannot hear. My name is Khadgar.”

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Lothar stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame languidly. He watched with something akin to amusement as the boy inside marveled at his shirt. He was smoothing his fingers across the fabric with an expression of awe. It was a small spot of light in an otherwise dark day.

The warrior had just came from a meeting, the subject of which was quite grim. All across Azeroth, strange creatures were cropping up with increasing frequency. They raided farms with an astonishing cruelty, slaughtering the livestock and burning the crops before kidnapping all inhabitants of adult age. Children and the old or weak were killed, their corpses left to rot. The corpse of a child, swollen with rot, plagued his mind, haunting. 

The meeting had been called to discuss the dire situation. No one was able to bring up a solution and it was eventually adjourned. To ease his frustrations, Lothar had decided to check up on the lad he’d rescued from such a beast, concerned by the apparent lack of recovery.

Seeing the boy upright, well mostly upright, was an encouraging sight. He pointedly cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to gain his attention but the noise was either unheard or ignored. He patiently waited just inside the doorway for a pair of minutes, watching as his patient inspected his bandages with a small frown.

But patience was not Lothar’s strong suit. He eventually walked over to the boy, leaning down partially to wave at him, trying to get his attention. His reaction startled the warrior, for he flinched away and immediately began to utter strange words. Instinct took over as Lothar bowled the lad over, hand immediately slapped against his lips to still the infernal words. Fucking hell, it was a spell caster?

“Cease your spells, boy!” He shouted before his teeth clenched with surprise. His mind reeled with sudden realization that the blinding flash from the fight had been from the boy himself! And it had slain that monstrous creature? “Who are you and where do you hail from?” He demanded as he stared down at him.

The lad was frozen with fear, staring up at him with impossibly wide eyes, the depths such a darkened brown, it was nearly black. He did not reply to Lothar’s demands and that infuriated the warrior. He impatiently repeated his words, spitting them out and biting them off in his anger.

And when sudden irritation mingled with the fear on the boy’s face, Lothar realised his mistake. He couldn’t very well reply with his hand clasped against his lips. “Don’t you dare try anything, you hear?” He growled as he snatched away his hand, shuffling away from the mage with a glare. He clasped his hands behind his back, features settled in an expression of anger.

He watched as the mage licked his lips uncertainly, looking disgusted for a spare second before he worked his lips. An uncertainty had stolen across him, making him look small like a child, shrinking into the bed. When he spoke, his words sounded blurred and thick, clumsily tumbling through his lips in a way Lothar barely understood.

It took a moment before he caught the meaning. “I, um, cannot hear. My name is Khadgar.” He stared at Khadgar, understanding dawning on him. A few questions were suddenly answered, though it left too many still. Lothar studied the boy with a slight scowl, quickly sorting through options of communication. The easiest was writing.

“Khadgar?” He tested the umfamiliar name, smoothing the inflection out into what he assumed was the correct pronunciation. “Khadgar. I’m going to fetch a pen and paper,” he made sure to slowly speak the words, feeling stupid as he exaggerated the vowels. Khadgar stared at him for an almost too long period of time before nodding, the tiniest dip of his head to show understanding.

Lothar, against his better judgment, abandoned the mage in his room to fetch the materials. When he returned, he found Khadgar was once more reclined against the pillows, but this time he was decidedly paler, skin almost as white as the walls around him despite the sun baked tan he sported. Lothar dumped the paper, ink, and quill on the bedside table.

He uncapped the ink, dunking the nib and hurriedly scrawling across the creamy sheet. _Name is Lothar. _Who are you and from where do you hail? And no spells!_ He underlined the last part then circled it, scowling to ensure the message was clear. He blew lightly across the paper to dry the ink before passing the sheet to the silent mage._

__

__

Much to the warrior’s surprise, Khadgar’s replied audibly. He spoke slowly, turning the words over through his lips, pronouncing carefully. “I am Khadgar.” A wry twist of a smile shadowed the sarcasm as he reiterated his name. He paused for a long moment, looking pensive. When he continued, he could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. “I’m a former student of the Kirin Tor. I had.. ah, an accident.” He gestured toward his ears with a wince.

“Lost my hearing and my education in one blow. Kind of wandered since. I need to find Stormwind.” The boy shifted in his bed, wincing when it agitated his injury. Lothar mulled over the words, pulling the meaning from the blurred vowels until it made sense. He snatched back the paper without apology.

 _You are in Stormwind’s cathedral, in the med ward. Are you dangerous?_ His first instinct screamed to throw the mage into the deepest dungeon cell, lock him away with his nefarious spells. But the innocent looking creature before him, staring at the paper and mouthing the words as he read… it evoked an unusual emotion inside the warrior.

He was reminded of his son, Callan, when he was younger. It made him reconsider his initial reaction, suppressing it. Khadgar hummed something to himself, the sound seemingly unintentional. Then he spoke once more, “I’m not dangerous unless I need to be.” The unsubtle threat was surprising, a spark of fiery personality.

“I want to help. I have nowhere to go, no one but…” Sudden alarm splashed across Khadgar’s face and he surged forward with sudden need flashing in his eyes. “My horse! My horse!” The words were nearly too thick to understand. Lothar impatiently shoved the boy back into his pillow, dunking the quill once more. He felt the barest hint of guilt after remembering the boy was injured but had hadn't made any pained sounds from the shove.

In his haste, he dripped blotches across the page while he wrote. _Your horse is fine. Calm down you dolt before you hurt yourself more._ It was annoyingly slow to communicate by writing, his letters becoming increasingly sloppier. He huffed an agitated breath across the ink to dry it before he let Khadgar snatch it back.

After reading the message, Khadgar relaxed once more, sunk against the pillows with a pale face looking up at Lothar. The warrior eased the sheet free of his hands, writing one last message before he left the mage in the bed. _I must speak to the King about you. Stay abed, I’ll return later in the evening. Don't hurt yourself further._

The problem of the injured mage weighed heavily in his mind as he turned to leave. He made it to the doorway before he impulsively turned to look once more at Khadgar. The boy had fallen asleep between one breath and the next, slouched against his pillows, eyes closed. He wore an expression of peace; the first Lothar had seen on the troubled boy. He fought the urge to almost smile as he ducked through the doorway, his boots sharply hitting the stone floor as he hurried away. He had to discuss with the King on what to do with Khadgar.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING** ***WARNING*** **WARNING**
> 
> This chapter contains sensitive subject matter. Attempted rape / non-con. Continue at your own risk. 
> 
> _________
> 
> I'm back people! I wrote up a doozy of a chapter. Things went downhill really quick, huh? 
> 
> Also I plan to go through and do some clean up of previous chapters. I glossed over so many glaringly obvious errors, yikes!

Khadgar sat on his bed with his legs crossed, pants bunched around his bent knees. His eyes were closed, his face scrunched up in concentration; his hands fluttered restlessly where they lay open on his knees, fingers twitching and curling. Every so often his mouth moved with unspoken words, feeling them out, testing their shape against his silent lips.

A lazy breeze ghosted through his room from the open window; it stirred the sheets ever so slightly and caught the stray wisps of too long hair, brushed them across his forehead into messy curls. All in all, he looked peacefully occupied, caught up in his meditation.

That was what greeted Lothar when he came to see the mage. It had been three days since he spoke first with Khadgar, had learned that he was a spell caster. Three days locked in argument and debate with the King. He hung by the door, watching the boy with a slight frown, leaning against the frame for comfort.

The King and Lothar had bitterly fought about the situation during those days. One had insisted the boy get locked away in the dungeon, for the safety of others. The other was convinced he was an asset, the familiar name the key to his importance. See, Lothar had learned much about Khadgar in those days.

Khadgar was the half trained apprentice of the Kirin Tor; the promising prodigy lined up to replace Medivh. Overwhelming magical potential and incredible innate talent, despite the lack of finesse and training. At least until his accident had literally blown up his career and stolen his hearing.

Lothar had been horrified to learn about the boy’s past. It made his skin crawl with revulsion and uncertainty, tainted with distrust. His inherent hatred for spell casters warred against his impression of the mage. He was haunted by how he had met Khadgar; a broken cry of fear from the forest, stained with helplessness and welling with pain.

The memory of the scream mixed with the warmth of honeyed brown eyes and the feel of painfully thin ribs under his hands. Broken skin and slick blood, the stink of a coppery tang mixed with something sweeter, like citrus and cinnamon. It all battled through his mind but nothing swayed him from either stand point.

Half of him wanted to put Khadgar away in the dungeon, the part of him that was dead set on the safety of the King. He belonged there with all the other filthy spell casters. They cheated through life, relying on their fey magic to stretch the boundaries of realities. They were liars and thieves, not worth their weight in refuse.

Yet the other half of him fiercely desired to protect the boy, wanted to sweep him up into safety. He reminded him of Callan in a sharp and painful way. He found himself staring at the ribs sticking out through the white of his shirt, still alarmingly apparent even after a few solid meals. This boy had hardly begun his life, barely had the chance to live and be free, yet he was already accustomed to the sense of starvation.

The war inside of Lothar came to a grinding halt when he looked up and saw that Khadgar was staring at him with a curious, slightly puzzled gaze. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, a useless gesture considering the mage’s disability. He was unsure at how long he had stayed in the doorway, looking at the boy.

Lothar pushed off of the frame and entered the room with a slight wave of his hand, a quick greeting. Khadgar mimicked it with a smile, a sunny little upturn of his lips. “Hello, Khadgar,” he spoke slowly and made sure to pronounce each syllable carefully. He hesitated for a too long moment, caught up in his own uncertainty as Khadgar voiced his own greeting, soft and surprisingly sweet sounding.

Then he threw caution to the wind and let half of himself die in his internal war. He shoved it down deep inside, smothered it with words. “The King has come to a decision. I will be your caretaker as you finish recovering. I am to acclimate you to the life inside Stormwind. When you are well, you may either leave or you may remain in service to the King.

“We already know about your apprenticeship to the Kirin Tor and the aspects of it. Medivh has voiced an interest in continuing your education. You will not further your training as a Guardian but rather as a personal mage for the King.” He watched Khadgar’s eyes as he tried to keep up, a little furrow of concentration creasing his brow.

The silence after his announcement was stifling. It pressed down like a physical weight against his shoulders, tried to consume him with a restless anxiety. Khadgar studied the warrior with such intensity, honeyed eyes narrowed with his focus as he mulled over the words. It made sweat collect in the low of Lothar’s back, made his shirt stick uncomfortably as he shifted listlessly, hands clasped awkwardly behind him.

“I accept!” Khadgar’s sunny smile returned with a flash of white teeth. “I will recover then aid the King. Anything to continue learning! It is frustrating to know just barely enough to taste the temptation but not quite the amount needed to be functional. And dangerous.” The boy nodded to emphasize his blurry words, looking as if he might burst with excitement.

“I- ah, uh.” Lothar stumbled over his words with an uncharacteristic stutter before he reeled it back in. Another useless cough to clear his throat, to steady his nerves. “Good. Good. The priests say you have recovered enough. To move rooms that is.” He winced at how stupid he sounded, thankful that Khadgar could not catch the roughness of his voice.

“You’ll take my son’s room. It’s across the hall from me.” He paused as Khadgar eagerly vaulted off the bed, landing with a slight wobble and a wince of pain as his wound pulled painfully. He offered a rueful smile to show Lothar he was fine.

“Follow me. I’ll take you there,” he managed to choke out around a surprised laugh.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Khadgar was simply amazed by how enormous Stormwind was. The cathedral alone was massive, taking nearly ten minutes to leave after they tidied up his room. He followed Lothar like a lost puppy, right on his heel, almost overwhelmed with the concern of becoming lost. He wished that Lothar had thought to give him shoes; the floor was dreadfully chill against his bare feet.

But he didn’t dare voice his discomfort. Lothar kept a brisk pace, one that Khadgar already struggled to keep up with. He felt the weakness that lurked in his limbs, pooled in his body like a poison. The only respite he was offered was when Lothar stopped to speak with a passerby; he seemed to be acquainted with just about everyone they walked past. He felt the bite of loneliness at his inability to contribute to conversation.

But soon it was washed away in the awe of emerging outside of the great cathedral. His eyes widened as he looked around, unable to hide the small gasp of surprise. The city was bustling, almost bursting at the seams with people and horses in the streets. Riders skillfully wove around the children playing aimlessly; others dodged around the horses, their wares cradled with expert care.

Khadgar imagined the noise must have been incredible, loud and grating with overlapping voices and the sound of hooves on the stone, the shrieks of children. He edged a bit closer to Lothar, feeling a pit of nervousness form in his stomach, tight and uncomfortable. The crowd swallowed them up as Lothar led him along the roads, the cobblestone surprisingly smooth under his feet.

Then he was biting back a yelp of pain as someone trod heavily on his foot; he bit down on his lip as he instinctively looked down to assess for damages. Thankfully there wasn’t any beyond a slight redness of his poor toes. And when he looked back up again, having stopped for barely a few seconds, he found he was alone in the throng of people.

Lothar was nowhere to be seen. The warrior had simply disappeared, taking by the crowd milling around them. Immediate panic welled up in his heart, making it thud and slam in his chest. Icy adrenaline rushed through his veins as he whirled around, looking for Lothar with a panic fueled desperation.

Someone rudely shoved him, made him take a few steps in confusion until he was being swept up in the crowd. He imagined that shove had come with a scolding and he let himself be caught up in the motion of the street, moving with them in a stumbling daze. He vaguely recalled a sign saying something about an old town as he wandered.

Nearly half a candlemark passed when he found himself staring uncertainly at dirty buildings with snaking alleyways. He had managed to keep up with the flow of traffic and only got his feet stomped twice more, a surprising feat considering the amount of horses milling around.

A few huddled bundles of rags shifted and stretched out their dirty arms. He presumed the beggars were asking for change or food, their gnarled hands demanding. He shook his head at them, pulling out his pockets to show that they were empty, much to his regret. One spat at him as skirted around them, heading into the district.

His nerves and anxiety at an unfamiliar area felt like an itch all over his skin, as if the ghost of insects were crawling all over him. He shuddered at it and absently rubbed at his arms, looking around with an uneasy glance. Then he winced away, hopping as pain raced through his foot. Unknown to him, the streets weren’t as clean in this part of the city. Shattered ceramics and glass littered the ground and he had unwittingly stepped on a shard.

Before he could lean down to inspect the damage, between one breath and another, he was seized by choking hands. An arm wrapped around his throat and a dirty hand clamped down over his mouth, stifling the instinctive spell that rose to his lips. He gagged on the putrid scent of the man holding him tight.

Khadgar started kicking and wiggling in a violent attempt to escape, thrashing in the iron grasp. A scream had welled up in his throat but was stifled by the hand, heavy and suffocating on his mouth. In the condition he was in, the mage didn’t stand a chance. Silenced, injured, skinny, weak. He was doomed from the start.

Another man emerged from the shadows to throw a hard punch at Khadgar, fist glancing off his cheek bone. The skin split under the blow, blood oozing out to slide down his cheek, hot and wet. The pain and force of the blow stunned him long enough for the man to undo the ties to his breeches, letting the soft leather pool around his bare feet.

With a renewed sense of panic, Khadgar began to struggle again, his mind screaming a litany of words. _No, no, no! Please! No! Help, someone! Anyone? Help! No!_ Tears began to collect in his eyes, spilling over to sting his cheek and face.

He knew the thugs were talking to him, he saw the agitated jerk and move of the punchers’ mouth. When he didn’t stop struggling, he earned another hard blow. This one was dealt to his stomach, a heavy hit angled upwards, sliding off his ribs on contact. It was excruciating, making the injury to his back burn with additional pain. His shirt felt suspiciously slick.

The hard blow forced any semblance of air to rush out of his lungs, violently going through his nose, coating the man’s hand in snot. He struggled to breathe, black spots swimming in his vision through the tears. He vaguely felt the rough tug that ripped his undergarment away. He tried to beg in his breathless voice, to plead, anything to stop this. But the hand was clamped too hard against his mouth.

Rough hands groped at him as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if he could block it all out. A painful squeeze made him flinch, then something was pressing hard against him for a bare moment. It stopped to be replaced with a wetness, then there was a shove and more pain exploded. He tried to shy away from the fingers, choking on his own sobs of sheer terror.

The man holding him tightened his hold over his throat until Khadgar went slack, close to passing out. No doubt he was being scolded for his movement, the wince away from the invasion. When the man eased the pressure away over his neck, the digits were removed forcefully. He unwillingly tensed, frightened at what was coming next.

But it never happened. No, instead, he was suddenly shoved aside as the hands released him in an instant. He stumbled before falling bonelessly to the ground, sucking in great heaving breaths of the sweet, sweet air. He blinked his eyes open again, tears scattering to fall down his cheeks.

He was greeted by the sight of a battle as he gasped and heaved and sobbed on the ground. This time the sobs were one of utter relief. Lothar had found him! The warrior was fighting the man that had held them; they were locked in a vicious scuffle, trading blows with violent force. Khadgar turned his head worriedly, searching for the second person.

Nausea rose in his throat when he saw the slumped shape nearby, head split open to spill its contents across the cobblestones. It was all too much. Khadgar threw himself to the side just in time as he vomited everywhere. He barely avoided vomiting in his own naked lap. The bile stung his nose as he kept heaving, stomach clenching and bubbling. He was crying as he puked; he shook like a leaf in the wind, blinded by his own tears.

When the last of the heaves subsided, leaving him weak and clammy, coated in a stinking cold sweat, he felt the gentle patting of a hand against his shoulder. He managed to turn his head enough to see Lothar crouched next to him, face a mask of concern and fury. Behind him, the other thug was being dragged away by two guards in silver and blue armour.

Lothar was saying something but the mage was too fatigued to read his lips, to catch the meaning. It earned him a slight frown and shake of the head, before he felt something soft pressed into his hands. He looked down to see his pants, now covering his immodesty. A second later he was being helped to stand, helped into the pants, the ties done up for him.

Khadgar mumbled bleary thanks to Lothar, not caring if the words weren’t intelligible. He was given a sad look before the world tilted. At first he wondered if he was fainting, a detached and unconcerned thought. Then he realised he had been picked up by Lothar, easily swept up in his arms, as if he weighed nothing.

The peace of being rescued and the lull of Lothar walking was enough to settle his mind. Or perhaps it was shock that dulled everything, numbed his body and soul until he drifted away in the arms of his savior. He didn’t care. He let the darkness take him. He was used to pain by now.

His last thought as he sank into unconsciousness was worry about getting blood on Lothar’s nice clothing.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jee whizz. It's been a while between updates. I was working too much and it's hard to write when you're too depressed to even want to breathe most days. 
> 
> uh
> 
> enjoy?? thanks for the patience. hope the chapter doesn't suck <3 
> 
> /pretending it is not 4am/

Warmth spread across his skin like a blessing; wet and soothing, inviting despite the sting against his newly opened wounds. It was delicious and blissful, wrapped him up in a blanket of liquid comfort. He blinked away the darkness of his vision tiredly, smothering the faint urge to panic as he once more woke to an unfamiliar setting. 

A quick look around, bleary and confused, showed he was nestled in an enormous wood tub, leaned up against the side with a folded towel cushioning his lower back. Steam curled lazily in the air, emitting from the hot water that was just barely comfortable, a hair away from too hot. He did not bother to hide his sigh of relief, soreness leeched out of him from the blissful heat. 

There was a window on the far side of the room; it showed it was still daylight out, bright sunlight spilling across the floor in stretching rays. It was serene. Until a hand touched his shoulder. He immediately convulsed away from it, memories exploding back into his mind, banishing his reason for the moment. 

He remembered the suffocating hands across his mouth, tight on his thought. The stench of unwashed bodies and the pain of invading hands. Water splashed violently over the side of the tub as he tried to escape whomever was in the room with him. 

Then he was met with bright blue eyes, reminiscent of a sky after a storm. A familiar wild mane of black hair and a sharp face that was now expressing alarm and concern. It was only Lothar. Khadgar slumped back against the side of the tub, the fight drained right out of him when he realised he was safe. 

“I’m sorry,” he managed to choke out after a long moment. After he suppressed the urge to break down and cry; an urge that threatened his fragile composure. Lothar scowled at him briefly before his lips moved slowly, easy to read even through the haze of sudden exhaustion that swept over him. 

“Don’t apologise,” Lothar was saying as he knelt down beside the tub rather than crane over him, “You did nothing wrong, Khadgar. I came to inform you that man is in the dungeon. He will not hurt you, nor anyone else, ever again.” A moment of hesitation, lips stilled as guilt flared to life in the warrior’s face. “I should be the one apologizing, Khadgar. I am supposed to watch over you.

“But I lost you in less than an hour. And as a result of my carelessness, you were hurt again.” He stopped against for a brief moment as Khadgar focused to keep up with the tide of slowly mouthed words, “I swear on my sword, my life, on anything… It won’t happen again. Ever.” The oath set Khadgar more at ease, a blanket of security over his frazzled nerves. 

Tension fled his bones and left him feeling almost comfortable as he blinked up at Lothar, as he mulled over his words. Under the thick foam of soap, his hands fidgeted in the water. He picked at a hangnail absently, even when he started to thoughtfully speak.

“You’re forgiven.” It came easy. Lothar had saved him in the end, before too much damage had been wrought. He had swooped into the fray in the nick of time, taking out the wretched men. And he could only assume he was also responsible for the bath and, now he could feel, the slippery ointment that coated his back. 

He managed to smile, though it was small and lasted barely a second. “You’re forgiven, Lothar. Thank you for saving me. I do not think anyone else would have.” The weight of the moment thickened the air, made it tense and taut. Lothar looked at him with intense eyes, the blue crystal clear but overwhelming. He dropped his eyes to the water, to his restless hands. 

To help ease the discomfort of the moment, Khadgar added in with an almost impish tone, forcing in a cheer he hoped didn’t sound too dreadful. “May I finish my bath now? And can we eat after? I am starving.” As if to accent his point, he felt the rumble of his stomach communicating loudly its emptiness. 

The last thing he saw was Lothar flinging a washcloth at his face as he cackled with sudden laughter, though it ended in a flinch as his back ached. He could only imagine the smash of the boots against the floor as Lothar fled the bathing chamber, scowling up a storm. It made him smile genuinely. 

And with the smile lingering in the barest of hints, Khadgar slowly rubbed the washing rag across his skin. He washed away the dirt and the grime of the day. Along with it, he washed away the shock and the fear, let it sink into the water that was quickly turning murky. He refused to let the day stain his life, let it rule him with fear and trepidation. Instead he took strength in knowing that Lothar would be there to save him. 

And that next time he would fight back soon. Would let his arcane words fly before he was silenced. He was determined, a fire that lit in his soul, burning soft but growing stronger. It was time for him to stand up and fight back. He was tired of being injured, tired of being sneered at, being shoved like a leaf in the wind. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Lothar felt more than slightly awkward as he stood outside the bathing room, waiting with impatience for Khadgar to finish splashing around. His impatience was so strong that he came close to looking inside, sure the boy had drowned. The concern was abated when the boy emerged from the room, toweling his messy brown hair dry. 

It was a relief to see he was dressed in the clothing that was left for him. Another simple linen shirt and a new pair of soft doeskin pants. This showed that Khadgar wasn’t as seriously injured as Lothar had initially thought. He waited until he was done drying his hair, the towel held loosely in his hands and his hair spiking outwards in every direction. 

A faint smile seemed to tug at the boy’s lips, his honeyed eyes focused on Lothar with question and curiosity. “Enjoy your splashing?” He asked dryly to break the silence, remember too late that his inflection would be lost. 

Indeed the sarcastic quip was met with an enthusiastic nod and a sunnier smile. Then a loud growl burst from his stomach, announcing that Khadgar was indeed starving, even as he blushed a furious red. Lothar suppressed the urge to sigh as he spoke slowly again; he made sure to face him squarely, allowing an easier read of his lips. “The mess hall is a short walk away. Let’s get you some food before you waste away. This time don’t get lost, alright?” Without waiting for a reply, he started to walk away. A look behind him showed Khadgar followed quickly, looking more than a bit excited at the prospect for food. 

It was incredible to see how fast the boy recovered from his trauma only a few short hours before. Despite the darkening bruises around his throat and a swollen, split cheek, the mage bounced along with barely contained energy. He was looking around with curiosity and almost bursting with a bright personality. 

There were still subtle signs though. He noticed how Khadgar constantly looked over at Lothar, as if to confirm that he was still there. How he kept closer than before, their shoulders brushed with contact every few steps. Almost imperceptible flinches when they passed by other individuals who walked the corridor. 

As guilt clouded through his heart, Lothar led his eager ward into the mess hall where all the soldiers took their meals. He reached over to grab Khadgar’s arm in a gentle hold and pulled him over so that he walked in front. A few touches here and there effectively guided the boy into the line where others waited for their food. 

He made sure to place himself protectively beside the boy, keeping others from accidentally pushing or shoving against him in their eagerness for their meal. He even forcefully nudged another man aside so he wouldn’t intrude on the mages’ personal space, ignoring the muttered curse it earned. 

They were soon both handed a full bowl of a thick and hearty stew, paired with golden wheat bread, still steaming from its time in the ovens. The cook seemed to notice how painfully thin Khadgar was, for he added an extra slice of bread to his bowl before he could move out of the line. Lothar nodded his thanks as he herded the boy toward a nearby table that was thankfully empty. 

Before he could even start to sit, Khadgar was plopped onto the stool and attacking his food ravenously. He barely chewed! Lothar marveled that he didn’t choke, almost inhaling the food so quickly. “Khadgar—Khad, oh damn it.” He swore as he cautiously touched his shoulder to catch his attention. It earned him a scowl but he did not care. “Slow down you dolt. You’ll get sick. Don’t make me take it away from you,” he threatened with a severe frown and a warningly raised hand, aimed toward his bread. 

“Don’t be an arse,” Khadgar grumbled, in what was probably meant to be a soft voice but came out a bit too loud. Nonetheless, he slowed down dramatically and took smaller bites; savoured the rich taste of the stew. It was venison with thick chunks of carrot and potato. Lothar thought it was a bit bland but still he ate it, cleaning the bowl out with hunks of bread. 

Another quick touch caught Khadgar’s attention again, “We’re going to meet the King after you are done eating. I imagine I’ll get a thorough scolding… uh, nevermind that though. We are to discuss the terms of your first meeting with the Guardian, Medivh.” 

“Don’t worry; he just looks intimidating. He won’t hurt you. Medivh or the King,” he hastily added at the hint of uncertainty that showed on Khadgar’s face. It cleared away at the reassurance and he went back to finishing his meal. Lothar leaned back against his chair and chewed thoughtfully at his lip. 

The meeting with the King would be interesting. Partly because he was going to get thoroughly scolded. But mostly because this spry youth might surprise his Majesty. So much tragedy had fallen on those skinny shoulders; enough weight to break them, yet here he was, smiling at the idea of stew. It was both sad and amusing. 

When he finished his food and looked back at him, he knew it was time to face the tides. “Come on, spellchucker,” the nickname fell from his lips unbidden yet oddly suiting. “Let us face your future. Together.” The sweetness of the words were confusing yet not unwelcome as he stood and stepped away from the table. 

Khadgar wrinkled his nose at Lothar before he also stood, clothes rustling faintly. With a gentle hand to help guide him, and assure the warrior that he was not going anywhere, Lothar led his wayward mage to the throne room.


End file.
